There Goes The Neighborhood
by SamRosinenbomber
Summary: Ah, Huntingburg. The peaceful suburb just outside of Cleveland, a perfect place to settle down after the war...wait, did I say peaceful? Never mind.
1. Chapter 1

This laundry thing was complicated.

How could one red shirt turn every single one of the socks pink? Not to mention the underwear…

Where did one draw the line between when a garment stopped being considered "dark"? And how could a wool sweater possibly shrink _that_ much?

Hogan sighed as he looked over his pitiful pile of wet laundry. He'd just taken it out of the (brand new!) Westinghouse washer that the nice lady at the department store had sold him, and was wondering how, between putting it in and taking it out, he could have messed up so astronomically.

He figured that all he could do now was hang it out on the line to dry. Maybe that would fix them.

Hogan picked up the wad of dripping clothing and made his way out of the laundry room, possibly losing a sock or two on the way, as he headed for the kitchen door that led into the spacious front yard of his house.

His house.

What a nice feeling it was, after years in the military, followed by years in a prison camp, to finally have a place that he could call his own. Well, mostly his own. He couldn't really claim ownership of the entire place, because half of the place was technically being rented by Newkirk.

The house was a big old yellow one that had two kitchens and two bathrooms, and had most likely been designed with the idea of being able to house two families, but it suited their needs just fine. They could come and go without disturbing one another, and splitting the heating and electric bill with someone was never not helpful.

Sometimes the war felt as though it were a million miles away, but other times it seemed like it was just yesterday that his plane was shot down. He could still see in himself and in his friends some of the habits they had picked up during the war, such as never wasting any amount of food or, if they were anything like him, never not marveling at how great a hot shower could be.

Hogan had just entered the kitchen with the soggy laundry when some movement from just outside the window caught his attention. Curiosity piqued, he plopped the wet mess down onto the nearest chair and walked over to the window that was just above the sink.

Out on the lawn, in a little pink dress, was a little redheaded girl petting his dog.

_Well, that's what happens when you have neighbors_, he thought, heading out the door. This shouldn't be too much of an issue; the kid's poor mom was probably looking for this tyke, anyway.

At first, the little girl looked as though she was too absorbed in petting Bruno to notice his approach, but once Hogan was a few feet away, she shifted her gaze from the dog to the man standing in front of her.

"You have a nice doggie," the little girl told him with a big smile.

He couldn't help smiling back at her. Bruno was a nice dog. He'd always known that the German shepherds from Stalag 13 were special, which was why he'd requested for them to be sent over to the states when he'd returned.

"Thanks. Uh...say, where did you come from?" he asked, squatting down to be more level with the little girl.

The little girl pointed at the shabby house a little bit further down the road, never taking her attention off petting the dog.

That was funny. He thought that that house was vacant. It seemed that way from all outward appearances, but apparently someone must live there.

"Well, let me...take you back, alright? Uh...what's your name?" he asked awkwardly, scooping the toddler up off the soft grassy lawn.

He was never good with kids. They were so unpredictable and...and...well, little. He hoped this little girl's mom was somewhere nearby.

"Lizzy," the little girl lisped, waving goodbye to Bruno as Hogan began walking towards her house. Tail wagging, Bruno followed them.

"Hmm...is that short for Elizabeth?" he asked her. Gosh, who thought that there would be awkward silence with a three year old?

"Nuh-uh. Is long for Liz," she replied seriously.

He laughed. Cute kid, really. Now to unload her on her mother…

When he arrived at the house, it was every bit as shabby close up as it appeared from the road. It didn't look neglected or anything, because someone had put glass jars of crocus in the window boxes, and it looked as though someone had tried to put a fresh coat of paint on the door. A little elbow grease and the house would look like new.

"Uh...Lizzy...where's your mommy?" he asked.

Big brown eyes looked up at him and Lizzy gave a little shrug.

"Is your mommy home?" he furthered.

Lizzy just chewed on her thumb.

Great. This kid was just a fountain of information.

Hogan awkwardly adjusted the bundle in his arms and knocked on the door. He waited a few minutes and knocked again, but there was still no answer.

"Is anyone home?" he ventured to ask Lizzy again.

This prompt seemed to remind the little girl of something, because she took her thumb out of her mouth and looked up at him.

"Mommy went for a drive."

Alright, they were getting somewhere now. Hogan sighed and wiggled the door knob, surprised to find it unlocked. Well, there was no sense standing out here for who knows how long waiting for the kid's mother to show up.

He opened the door and walked into the little house, which was just as worn as the outside but very clean and tidy.

"Hello?" he called out, hoping that someone was in the house. No answer.

Hogan sighed, and sat down on a small couch that was close to the door. He was sorely tempted to leave the kid here for her parents, but chances were that if she'd wandered out once, she'd wander out again, and she'd most likely just end up back in his yard with his dog again.

Speaking of his dog, Bruno was waiting patiently outside the house, lying on the mat just outside the door.

Hogan let out a sigh. This kid's parents couldn't be gone too long, could they? They left their kid unattended after all, so they must plan on being back soon.

He looked down at Lizzy, who appeared very comfortable to just sit there on his lap. In fact, she looked like she was falling asleep. Well, that was good. At least he wouldn't have to entertain the kid the whole time he waited.

And he waited. For three hours. He might have even fallen asleep himself a few times.

Great. Now what? Lizzy was still dozing peacefully, but he didn't think she would stay that way all night.

At midnight, he finally decided that he'd waited long enough. Carefully, very carefully, Hogan stood up, trying not to wake up the sleeping little girl. No such luck.

She squirmed and grabbed his shirt, mumbling something.

"Go back to sleep," he said softly, trying not to make it sound like an order. Thankfully, the little girl seemed to listen, and the short trip back to Hogan's big yellow house was made quietly, save for the sound of trotting dog feet following them back.

He was surprised to see that the lights were on in the house, and when he opened the door, Newkirk was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, looking only mildly surprised.

"I was wonderin' what you'd gotten yourself into, gov'ner," he said, staring at the little girl nestled in Hogan's arms. "Awfully late, it is."

"Yeah. Could you look after her for a bit? I've got to head down to the station and check something out," said Hogan, as Newkirk found himself with a lap full of sleepy toddler.

"Wh-?"

"She wandered into the yard earlier. I brought her to her house and no one was there. I waited and no one showed up. I'm going to see if there's been any reports of missing kids in the area," he explained quietly, putting on his belt and grabbing his hat.

"Thank you very much," Newkirk hissed, but his small smile took some of the venom out of his voice. "I needed this."

"You're welcome," said Hogan, choosing to ignore his friend's sarcasm. "Oh, and her name's Lizzy, by the way."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sheriff LaFever was getting too old for night duty.

"No, Hogan, no missing children have been reported," the sheriff sighed, rubbing his temples. Why did stuff like this have to happen when he was on duty?

"Well, do you know who lives in that house?" asked Hogan, leaning on his elbows on the sheriff's desk.

"Lemme look," said the older man, rummaging through some folders in the top drawer of his desk. Hogan barely suppressed an eye roll when he saw him shuffle away what looked suspiciously like a few copies of_ Beauty Parade _magazine.

"I read it for the articles," said LaFever, in his own defense. He pulled out a rolled up map from the drawer and spread it out on his desk.

"Alright, let's see," he mumbled, scanning the map. "Hogan, you live here, and the house is…."

"Right there," said Hogan. He'd maneuvered his way behind the desk and was peering over the sheriff's shoulder at the map.

"Hmm...that's Mr. and Mrs. Brenner's house. Well, Mrs. Brenner, now. Mr. B was killed in the war," said the sheriff, letting the map roll back up again.

"How?" Hogan couldn't help but asking.

"Flyer. Went down with the plane's what I heard."

Hogan sighed. The world just didn't seem to want to let him forget what had went on overseas a few months ago.

"Well, there was no one in the house, that was for sure. I'm gonna call a few guys and we'll do a quick search for this Mrs. Brenner," said Hogan, shrugging into his uniform jacket.

"Good luck," said the sheriff resignedly. There was no use trying to stop Hogan when he had set his mind on something.

Retirement was sounding better and better every day.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Now that Hogan knew the name of who he was looking for, it was easier to ask around to see if anyone knew of this woman's whereabouts. Well, it should have been, anyway. The other neighbors proved to be no help at all, none of them having the faintest idea where the elusive Mrs. Brenner was. The only real clue Hogan had to work with was that little Lizzy had told him that her mother had gone out for a drive. While a toddler's testimony was not the most reliable thing to go on, it was all he had at the moment.

He had two other officers driving around the town looking for any sign of Mrs. Brenner's car, a tan 1931 Chevy, which had been described to them by one of the other neighbors. Officers Baxter and O'Keefe were driving around the commercial section of town, and Hogan had taken to the dirt roads on the east side of town. It was pretty out there in the daytime, with the few old farmhouses and meadows, but the rain that had hit earlier this morning had left the road a muddy mess, and Hogan was having trouble keeping his car from swerving.

The only good thing about the muddy road was that he could see some tire tracks in it, illuminated by his headlights, and they looked fresh. It wasn't a huge lead or anything; anyone could have driven on this road earlier, but something about how the other car's tire marks swerved around the road made Hogan follow them.

All of a sudden, the tire tracks on the muddy road vanished. Hogan stopped his car and got out, flashlight in hand, getting a sick feeling in his stomach when he saw that while the tracks had indeed no longer continued; instead they veered off violently to the left, straight into the woods.

Sloshing through the mud, Hogan followed the tire tracks towards the woods. It appeared as though there was a steep ravine off this side of the road, and he shined his flashlight around in the shrubbery down below.

He swept his flashlight around, but stopped immediately when he noticed it reflecting off something large down below. Half sliding, half walking down the ravine, Hogan made his way over to the object, his worst fears confirmed when he realized that it was a car.

It was a tan 1931 Chevy.

He swallowed the dread welling up in his throat as he approached the vehicle.

"Hello?" he called.

No answer.

Making his way closer, he peered into the vehicle.

He had found Mrs. Brenner.


	2. Chapter 2

_My dear Molly-_

_I miss you! I keep that picture of you and Lizzy that you sent me in my flight suit; it's been with me on all of my missions so far. I think it's good luck. I'm doing as well as can be hoped. England is nice enough, but it's horrible to come back to the barracks at the end of the day and see all the empty bunks and know that those young men won't ever be coming back. _

_But I don't want you to be thinking of sad things like that, dear. I'd rather talk about how wonderful it will be to see you when I get home and we can get started with our lives again. I reckon our sweet Lizzy has grown a bit since I saw her last. I hope that I won't be away too long to miss seeing her grow up...Tell her that Daddy loves her very much! _

_I have to go now. We are leaving for a mission to Schweinfurt tonight. _

_Love you forever,_

_Jack_

Hogan sighed and rubbed his temples for what felt like the thousandth time that day, and put the letter down in the pile with the countless others. It felt like it had been weeks ago that the tiny girl had toddled her way onto his lawn, but it had only been about a day.

Hogan, along with Newkirk and LeBeau, had already spent a good part of the day searching the Brenner house and asking around to see if the little girl had any surviving relatives, but the search wasn't turning up much, apart from the numerous letters exchanged between Lizzy's parents. The saddest one of all was the final letter, not one written by Jack Brenner, but a typewritten note informing Mrs. Molly Brenner that her husband had been killed in action.

Hogan turned his attention away from the increasingly depressing stack of letters and looked at Newkirk, whom the little girl had taken quite a liking to. The two were seated on the floor in the living room, the latter of the pair contentedly constructing a little house out of colorful blocks.

"What color are you goin' to use next?" he heard Newkirk ask the little girl softly.

"Green," answered Lizzy, happily accepting the correct colored block from the man sitting next to her.

Newkirk must have felt Hogan's stare, because he looked up at his former commanding officer and smiled. "You find anything yet, sir?"

Hogan thought it was funny that his men were still referring to him as "sir." They were all out of the military, but it seemed like old habits died hard.

"Nothing," answered Hogan, heaving another sigh. "I've got Sheriff LaFever looking at all the old records to see if Lizzy has any family members left, but with him that could take a week….maybe longer."

"It takes him that long to get out of his chair," snorted LeBeau from the other side of the room. He had also been rifling through old address books and papers, trying to find some relative to contact, but it seemed as though this family had fallen from outer space. Nothing they had found so far was of any help; there were telephone numbers of plumbers, electricians, and family doctors among Molly Brenner's contacts, but not a single one that appeared to be a relative, or even a family friend.

When Hogan had returned to the police station the other night to file the case report, there had been plenty of information on the family that he'd been able to retrieve from the local people. Lizzy was, as he had assumed, three and a half years old, and her mother had been working as a secretary for the Huntingburg bank to support herself and her daughter after her husband's death. The Brenners were so nice, according to every sympathetic townsperson he encountered, very friendly and hardworking.

But it seemed like the trail went cold after that. There were countless questions floating around in Hogan's mind, but the one that prickled at him the most was _Why had Mrs. Brenner left her kid at home? Where had she been going? _

It didn't seem as though they would ever find the answers to those questions, and that's what bothered him.

xxxxxxx

"What's this?"

"A cow!"

"Right, Lizzy, what does a cow say?"

"Why? You don't know?" Hogan had chosen that precise moment to walk into the main kitchen of the house, where he found Newkirk attempting to coax Lizzy to eat a bowl of what appeared to be very soggy cereal, but it appeared as though the farm animals decorating the dish were holding a lot more appeal for the little girl.

"Very funny, sir. You need something?"

"No, just getting some coffee," said Hogan, pouring the tepid liquid out of the pot that was sitting on the counter and into his mug. It had been three days -he had counted- since Lizzy had been staying with them. They were still looking for a relative of some sort to unload her on, but the search had been coming up dry every time. The local church had offered to look after the little girl until they could find someone, but, to Hogan's dismay, Newkirk declined the offer and decided that he would continue to look after the tiny girl.

"Who's gonna help you with your ABCs when she's gone?" joked Hogan, stirring some cream into his coffee. Gosh, it was so nice to have real coffee after years of drinking the watered down stuff at Stalag 13, which you probably could call coffee the same way you could call water a chicken had walked through soup.

There was no humor in the Englishman's eyes when he looked up at Hogan. "About that, sir…"

"Yeah?" Hogan asked hesitantly, his coffee spoon clattering into the sink.

"Why don't we keep her 'ere with us? House is big enough."

"Wh-wait, what? You...you're serious? You...you...really think that's a good idea?"

"I...just couldn't see the poor little thing in an institution," said Newkirk, patting the little girl's hair. "That's no place for a kid to grow up. I know. I've met some."

"And you think we could do a better job of it? I don't know the first thing about kids!" said Hogan, his voice raising an octave higher than usual.

"I know a lot about kids. I had big family growin' up," answered Newkirk calmly.

"I just can't believe you really...I mean, it's not like a stray dog! We can't just keep her because she followed us home! It...Newkirk, it doesn't work that way. There's laws and safety regulations...and...and other things like that," replied Hogan, trying not to sound too desperate.

Newkirk had to be messing around with him. He really thought it was a good idea for Lizzy to stay with them? Sure, she was kind of cute now, but kids grew up, didn't they? They had tantrums and cried and turned into teenagers with acne and hormones, and there was nothing cute about that, and how did you bring a girlfriend home with a screaming toddler in the next room? Did kids need baths or did they lick themselves clean, like cats? And then, oh God, The Talk. They would have to give her The Talk, the one with birds and trees or whatever people called it, and an army training video could probably handle that and why was he even thinking about this? She wasn't staying with them, they would send her off to a nice orphanage and the whole thing would be over, they'd forget about it-

But the look on Newkirk's face told him that he was indeed serious.

"What makes you so adamant about this?" Hogan finally asked.

Newkirk gave a noncommittal shrug. "She's a sweet kid...smart too." He paused. "Why are you tryin' to talk me outta this?"

It was Hogan's turn to pause. Why was he so against this? If Newkirk wanted to ruin his life by adopting a child when he wasn't even married, that was his problem, wasn't it? Why did the thought of Lizzy living with them scare him so much? He'd withstood Gestapo interrogations, jumped out of planes and diffused live bombs, but the thought that he might be influential on the life of a very young, very impressionable kid scared him to death. What if they messed up?

Before he could respond, there was a knock on the door. Hogan could see through the screen that it was LaFever, his Model A parked out in the road.

"It's open," said Hogan, putting his forgotten coffee mug down on the kitchen counter.

LaFever opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind him. There was a sheet of paper in his hand, and it waved it in front of them.

"Good news, boys. Lizzy's got an aunt in Cleveland Heights."

xxxxxxxxxxx

The drive to Cleveland Heights was not a fun one.

It was quiet almost the whole ride, Hogan driving and Newkirk riding shotgun, Lizzy in his lap. It might have been easier for Hogan not to have brought Newkirk along, but there was no way he was going on a long car ride alone with the little girl. What if she started crying or something?

As soon as Sheriff LaFever had been able to find a surviving relative of Lizzy's, Hogan had been eager to drop her off with someone who would probably do a much better job at taking care of the little girl, Newkirk understandably less eager. They had attempted to telephone the elusive aunt in Cleveland Heights, but the telephone operator informed them that there had not been a line to that house in months.

Hogan had been going by the directions that he'd gleaned from a road map, and he was pretty confident in his ability to find his way around, but it unsettled him slightly to see that they appeared to be driving into what looked like a very seedy part of the town, people slinking back into their houses and apartment buildings at the sight of the slow moving police car.

Eventually they made it to the address they had been looking for, 230 Elm Street. To their dismay, this particular house looked no better than the ones around it. With a sigh, Hogan opened the driver's door and stepped out, Newkirk mirroring his actions on the other side of the car.

"I don't like the look of this place," said Newkirk, adjusting Lizzy on his hip.

Hogan didn't answer; instead he walked up the cracked driveway and knocked firmly on the door, getting a weird feeling of deja vu when there was no answer. He knocked again, but there was no answer. Someone had to be home; there was a car parked to the side, battered. but it still looked driveable.

It was a few minutes before he finally heard footsteps shuffling towards the door, and it was finally opened.

"Steve ain't got anything to do with it this time," said the small woman who answered the door. She dropped the cigarette she'd been smoking on the floor and ground it out with her heel.

Hogan decided to ignore the woman's first remark. "Are you April McClosky?" he asked her.

"Yeah, I am," said the woman, albeit a bit hesitantly.

"Do you have a sister named Molly Brenner?" Hogan furthered.

"Molly? Yeah, what about her? She dead or something?" asked April, reaching into the pocket of her dress for another cigarette and lighting it.

Hogan was taken aback for a moment at the woman's apparent lack of tact, but kept going. "As a matter of fact, she was killed in a car accident a few days ago. Did you happen to hear anything about that?"

"Nah, I just figured that that's the only way I'd be hearing about her again," said April. "Me and her didn't get along."

"Why not?" Hogan ventured to ask.

"She thought the people I go with are no good. She was right about a few of 'em, but I couldn't stand her preaching to me anymore, so I left," finished April nonchalantly, snuffing out the half-smoked cigarette out on the door frame, leaving a black smudge of ash behind.

"Molly's husband died in the war. They had a daughter. You're the only surviving relative we could find," said Hogan finally, hoping that April would pick up on where the conversation was going.

She did.

"So, what, now I gotta take care of the kid? Molly's taking a dirt nap so that means it's gotta be my responsibility? Why can't you just send her to an orphanage or something?"

Maybe it was the heavy scent of alcohol coming from the house, or maybe Hogan had finally snapped, maybe Lizzy would help him pick up girls, I mean she's cute, women love cute, and how hard can one kid be? So far he hadn't had to change a diaper, and it's not like he'd have to have too much to do with her, it could be Newkirk's problem, but who was he kidding? They lived in the same house, he'd see her every day, every day she'd talk to him and he'd have a hand in turning a kid into a functional member of society, because oh my gosh-

"Because she's going to be living with us. All you need to do is sign the custody papers."

xxxxxxxxxx

Lizzy liked birds.

Any kind of bird; sparrows, crows...even the pigeons in the store parking lots were loved by her.

Hogan liked watching the little girl feed the ducks at the pond and he was starting to get used to how she would run over to him when she was done, and slip her little hand into his, ready to go home.

They'd go home, Hogan would try to make something for her to eat, usually fail, but Lizzy always seemed happy nonetheless.

Sometimes it scared him; scared him how much she trusted him, scared him when she caught the measles when Newkirk was out of town and he had to take care of her by himself. But it wasn't same kind of fear you get when you're about to jump out of a plane or when you find out someone you had given information to was a German spy; it was somehow different.

Maybe it was the kind of scared he could get used to.

* * *

Life has been very busy lately. Allergies, chickens with stuck eggs, civil war reenactments, you name it.

I did some research a while back, when I was writing the epilogue, about the whole adoption/custody issue as it was in the 1940s. The post WWII era was also known as the "baby scoop" era, mainly because adoption was becoming more widely-practiced, the whole millions of soldiers returning and unwanted pregnancies occurring subsequently after that being the main reason. Child Protective Services were more on the lookout for abuse and neglect, and if Lizzy had truly been orphaned, she most likely would have ended up in a religious or church run home. By the 1940s, orphanages were kind of dying out, being replaced with faculties more like what you'd see in Spencer Tracy's _Boys Town_ than anything.

I figured that since Hogan and Newkirk are now in the law enforcement business, their jobs should lend them some credence and make the whole process easier. I didn't want to write too much about legal proceedings or get too technical, since that would have made this chapter way too long. As if Hogan's...existential angst didn't take up enough room.

I stole the name April McClosky from myself. I am writing another story (which currently only exists in my head) about some people who take to living in abandoned subway terminals and other underground places after WW1 turns apocalyptic. The character is not very nice in that story either. If your name is April: Sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

Oh boy.

What had he gotten himself into this time?

There were lots of other thoughts bouncing around in Carter's head as he tried to force himself to just _knock on the door already_. He'd already come this far...all the way to Germany, so what was holding him back now?

Fear. Stark terror.

That sounded about right.

The last time he'd seen Lucy had been a few months ago, and she hadn't been scary then. She'd been nice, very nice, and despite the whole almost getting turned over to the Gestapo and being shot thing, he'd enjoyed her company very much.

But that was a few months ago. A week ago, he'd been in America, back in the States with his buddies from Stalag 13, finally free. No more war. It was great. Then that telegram had arrived. It was addressed to Campbell, but he knew everyone in the room had felt sorry for the girl.

"_Went to meet husband at train station. Found out from friend of his he died in Russia. Can't get green card. Bank foreclosing on house. Frau Schneider passed away. I don't know what to do_," Campbell had read from the paper while sitting in the middle of the peaceful living room of Hogan and Newkirk's Huntingburg home.

He'd heard somewhere, he'd forgotten where and when, but he remembered hearing from someone that their German girlfriend couldn't come to the states with him while she was still a German citizen, so he'd married her. That had made her an American, at least as far as the law was concerned. Lucy was already an American, but her marriage to one Nazi Lieutenant was all it took to make her a German.

He really should have sent a telegram back or something. Maybe even called long distance. Anything, really. Anything but showing up on her front doorstep. What in the world had possessed him to come all the way back here? He didn't think he'd be this nervous during the trip over, but for some reason he was having a hard time remembering just what had made him buy that plane ticket in the first place. But he was already here, so he might as well just knock on the door.

It was a minute or two before he heard the padding sound of footsteps making their way down the stairs inside the farmhouse, and he had the oddest feeling of deja vu, which probably would have been much stronger if he was hiding in a scratchy bush.

The farmhouse door swung open to reveal Lucy, looking just as sweet but much more stressed than the last time he'd been there.

Also, she was much pregnanter, if that was even a word.

Currently, she did not appear ready to actually have the baby this very second, so it didn't worry him as much as he thought it would.

"Hi ma'am, uh...miss...I mean, you probably don't remember me, I mean, I'm not saying you don't, but it's okay if you don't, there was a lot going on last time I was here, and I guess...well, it's just that-"

"I remember you. You're Carter, right? You were here with Campbell and Colonel Hogan," said Lucy with a small smile, putting her hand on his shoulder and encouraging him to come into the house.

"You remember me?" Carter asked, coming in and taking off his hat.

"Of course I do. How could I not? That was a night I don't think I'll be forgetting anytime soon," said Lucy, lowering herself down into one of the living room chairs, gesturing for Carter to take the loveseat across from her.

"Oh, yeah. I...guess you're right. Oh, you can, uh, call me Andrew...if you want."

Lucy smiled. "Well, what are you doing in Germany, Andrew? Didn't you go back to the States when the war ended?"

"Well, yeah, I did. I was in the States when Campbell got your telegram."

Lucy's smile fell, and she dropped her head into her hands. "I don't know what to do," she mumbled through her hands, "I would have been fine staying in Germany, but there's nothing here for me now."

Carter looked around the living room, trying to think of something to say. There wasn't much in the room, just the furniture and the fireplace, currently unlit. There was a framed photograph on the little side table next to Lucy's chair. The little black and white photograph showed her, looking much happier than he'd ever seen her, standing next to a tall Nazi Lieutenant, who was smiling just as brightly as she was.

Lucy raised her head from her hands and looked up, sighing. She noticed Carter staring at the photograph and said, "That was my husband. It's the only picture of him I have. We had that taken the day we got married."

"Oh...uh...you...look nice in it," said Carter, fidgeting a little.

"Thank you," said Lucy, who was still looking at the photograph. "I met Otto the very first day I came here with Campbell. He was stationed in this area then. He wasn't meant to be a soldier. He was too sweet for that, but a healthy young man really didn't have much of a choice in the matter," she explained.

"He was a Lieutenant?" Carter asked.

"Mm-hmm. It's funny, but he never really knew why they promoted him. He got the iron cross, too, because he once threw himself on a grenade to protect his friends. Luckily that one was a dud."

"Oh...that's...well, he sounded like a great guy."

"He was."

"I'm sorry," said Carter truthfully.

"It's...well, there's nothing I can do now, is there? Nothing I could have done then either."

"Do you know...I mean did they tell you…?"

"How he died? Yes, his friend told me. He said it would probably be better if I went on not knowing, but I felt like I might have gone mad had he not told me," said Lucy, running a hand through her loose brown hair before continuing.

"His foxhole got shelled. There was just...nothing left of him," said Lucy softly, squeezing her eyes shut.

They were quiet for a few moments, neither really knowing what to say to the other.

"Why can't you get a green card?" Carter asked suddenly, deciding to change the subject.

Lucy sighed. "They let you into the country because you're an American and you were in the war. They won't let me _out_ of the country because they have enough people scrambling to get out of here and over there," she explained. "At least that's what they told me at the immigration office. There are a lot of other people that want to leave the country, people that happen not to be the widows of decorated Nazi officers."

"Oh...well…that's too bad...but I was...well...I was thinking..I mean…"

Oh boy. Oh boy. Oh my gosh. Oh my _gosh_, he was seriously going to do this, this was it, she was probably going to laugh at him or maybe even cry or think he was a creep, coming half way across the world for this, and this would be a lot easier if her husband hadn't looked like Jimmy Stewart and had looked more like Burkhalter like he did in his imagination, not that he'd thought a lot about what Lucy's husband had looked like. They'd met exactly once, he hardly knew a thing about her, but it was too late, he was already here, so he might as well just…

"Andrew? Are you alright? You look awfully pale all of a sudden," said Lucy, getting up and sitting down on the loveseat next to him.

"No, I mean, yes, I mean, yeah, I'm fine, I just," he took a deep breath, "would you like to come back to the states with me?"

Lucy smiled. "I'd love to go back, but I can't."

"You could if we got...uh..._married_," he said, barely avoiding choking on the last word. Gosh, did he really just say that?

Yes, he did, if the surprised look on Lucy's face was anything to go by.

"You wouldn't be stuck me with or anything, I mean, as soon as we got back you could get it annulled, and I guess that it was stupid of me to just ask you like this, but I know you're stuck here, and I've heard of it being done before so I just figured that maybe…well, if you think about it as…"

"Andrew," Lucy interrupted his ramblings gently.

Here it comes. Was she going to say no? Was she going to laugh at him? Burst into tears? Kick him out?

There were a lot of different scenarios going through his head, but he never could have imagined in a million years that she'd kiss him. Okay, so it was just on the cheek, but still...

She pulled back after a second, smiling brightly at the dumbfounded expression on his face. "Let me go start packing."

xxxxxxxx

Lucy had never been a big fan of trains. Trains took people away and then you never saw them again, but she and Carter took a train to Dusseldorf, and then to Munich, where they bought a marriage license and got married. She knew that the chaplain probably thought the worst of them when they came in, her large belly poorly concealed by her loose dress, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Carter had been so nice during their trip, helping her on and off the trains, opening doors for her, and always smiling like he couldn't believe she was really there with him.

He certainly did have a nice smile.

Everything seemed to be happening in a daze, but when they boarded the nice passenger ship that was going to take them to the states, the little card on the door of their cabin was emblazoned with the words _Reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Carter, _and that made everything seem very real all of a sudden.

Her original giddiness at the prospect of getting back to the states was suddenly overcome by the realization that she was actually married. Again.

To a complete stranger.

She ended up enjoying the trip more than she thought she would. They had more in common than they had thought; they both loved the _Thin Man_ movies, both thought Harold Lloyd was funnier than Charlie Chaplin, and could both agree that _Moonlight Serenade_ was probably the prettiest song in the world, especially when the ship's band was playing it at night under the stars.

The entire trip went much faster than either of them expected; before they knew it, the boat had docked in New York. They were back in America.

When they finally got off the boat, they made their way to the nearest train station, neither saying very much to each other.

"Where are you going to go?" she finally asked him; he was carrying both of their bags as they made their way over to the ticket window.

"Well, I guess I'm going to go see my folks...they live in North Dakota. I haven't seen them since before the war. I was on my way there when Campbell got your telegram at Colonel Hogan's place. Do you, uh, know where you're going?"

She thought for a moment but finally answered. "Yes, I do."

"Oh. Well, that's...good," he said. "I'll pay for your ticket...if you want. Wherever you're going."

They were silent again until they finally reached the ticket window.

"Where to?" the kid at the window asked.

"Columbus, connecting to Bismark, please," said Carter, putting the bags down to dig around in his pocket for his wallet.

"Just one, mister?" the ticket clerk asked.

Carter hesitated, but Lucy had already made her decision, and she was more than positive that it was the right one.

She smiled brightly at him. "No, two."

* * *

I have never written a fluffy piece without turning it into a parody of some sort, so this is a first for me.

Alright, long story time. My neighbor, Maria, has a sister, whose name is DeEtta. DeEtta was sort of a nurse in WWII, and did some Red Cross work. She's very old now and kind of hard to get information out of, and there's always a point where you just have to stop prying, so there are a few details that I don't have, but I don't want to bother her too much. Anyway, DeEtta married a German Lieutenant while overseas, and from what she tells me he was sort of a pacifist. He got a lot of medals for good conduct, saving his buddies, etc., more defensive than offensive stuff. She didn't know until after the war that he was killed in combat, but since she did know a lot of other American GIs and wrote back and forth with them, they found out that she was still over there and a widow, although not pregnant like Lucy.

From the way she describes it, because her husband was such a high ranking officer, and it was his name that was on all her papers, every time she tried to come back to the states the second they did what I guess you could call a background check on her they pretty much said no Nazi sympathizer is coming over here. You wanted to marry a German, now stay in Germany.

Luckily for her, one American GI that she was in contact with had taken quite a liking to her. He flew all the way back to Germany (which she didn't know he was planning on doing) and they got married so she could come back to the states, and by the time they got back here they'd decided to stay together. They have 6 kids and numerous grandchildren now. Awww…3


End file.
